


A Different World

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Fictober, Oktoberfest, mulder and scully in germany, set in season 11, there's german in this fic, they also have sex, this fic got weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:11:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a case in Germany - it's Oktoberfest!





	A Different World

“Wow, Scully, you look…” He is torn between fucking ridiculous and incredibly sexy. The look she throws him, however, makes him swallow his words and leave his sentence unfinished. But Scully wearing a dirndl is definitely something.

“You don’t look much better, Mulder.” She pulls at the soft, checkered fabric that holds in her breasts. Barely so. If Mulder had known how sexy traditional Bavarian clothing could be, he would have come here much sooner. “Can we just get going? The sooner we find out what is happening, the sooner we can get out of these clothes.”

It’s taken over 20 years, but here they are investigating their first real international case. In Germany, of all places. When Mulder mentioned the case in passing, he didn’t think Scully would be interested. But she was. Saying it was the perfect opportunity to visit Bill once they were done with the case. Mulder secretly hopes that solving the case will take some time. Especially if it means seeing Scully in this… thing.

“I don’t know, Scully,” he says, leading her out of their hotel room with a hand on her back. He has a great view of her cleavage and tearing his eyes away is harder than he anticipated. “The dress suits you.”

“It’s called a dirndl, Mulder.”

“Gesundheit.”

“That’s German, too.”

“Well, you’re the expert. I’m the clueless tourist.” He tries to adjust the suspenders on his lederhosen. They’re not as uncomfortable as they look, but it’s not something he wants to be seen in either. He just feels utterly ridiculous. The hotel lobby is full of people who are dressed just like him, though, in lederhosen, checkered shirts and sturdy boots. He feels better about his attire. At least a little bit. Scully is still trying to hide her boobs.

“We’re both clueless tourists, Mulder. I just happen to speak a few words of German.“ A guy grins at Scully, then winks. Mulder draws her closer; they may be undercover, but they’re still here together.

“Somehow I feel like people don’t talk much at Oktoberfest.“

Whatever Mulder expected one of Germany’s biggest annual happenings to be, it is not this. The place looks like a carnival. It’s bustling with sounds, laughter and the kind of music that reminds Mulder of having his teeth pulled. There are people singing and moving about as if under the influence.

“Willkommen auf der Wiesn!” Someone with a too high voice screams into his ear. Everything smells like beer and when he licks his lips, the late September sun too warm, he tastes salt.

“Gut schaust du aus.” Another guy winks at Scully and Mulder is ready to hit him. What is it with the winking here in this town? There’s a half empty beer glass in his hands and judging by his glazed eyes, it’s not his first. “Wie wäre es mit einer Maß? Geht auf mich.” Mulder doesn’t understand a single word, but his anger builds with every passing second.

“Ich suche Kronprinz Ludwig,” Scully sing-songs in accented German. The name is something Mulder recognizes; this faceless guy is the reason they’re here. Seven tourists have gone missing, mumbling this name. All they have to go on is the Oktoberfest. Each one of them has been here, disappeared for a few days and upon returning, was full of praise for Kronprinz Ludwig. The local authorities, afraid of people staying away, contacted Mulder. One of the officers went to Oxford with him and remembered that he used to be fascinated with lights in the sky.

“Du bist nicht von hier?” Mulder looks at Scully who shakes her head no. The guy in lederhosen takes a sip from his beer and grins. “Where you from?” His English is worse than Scully’s German. But at least now he knows what’s going on.

“We’re from the US.” Scully links her arm through Mulder’s. He belongs to her.

“Americans! Come on, Kronprinz Ludwig will like you.” He walks them past small huts and tiny wooden shops that look like outside bars. Mulder can’t help but be fascinated. It’s anarchy. There are people dancing on tables, couples making out in plain sight. There’s a man throwing up against a tree. Another one, way too close to the scene, sleeping with his mouth wide open. Spending a few days with Bill Scully suddenly doesn’t sound so bad.

“Kronprinz Ludwig!” Their new friend stops and turns around. His face almost gets smashed into Scully’s prominent cleavage. Damn those dirndls.

“Where?” Mulder hisses.

“Oh.” The guy chuckles and points to a colorful hut thatl ooks as if it doesn’t belong to the official part of Oktoberfest. “That’s his. Go in. Have fun.” He stumbles off and finds new people to talk to almost immediately. Mulder and Scully share a look before they walk over to the hut.

“Let me talk,” Scully says. Mulder wants to complain, but all he can do it cough when Scully draws the fabric away that serves as a door. He can’t even tell what it is: there’s the strong sweetness of weed and something else. Mulder feels high just breathing it in.

“Servus!” A blond, chubby man with a cheap crown on his head greets them. “Hier werdet ihr königlich versorgt.” He breaks into a fit of giggles. Mulder turns to Scully, silently asking her what he said. She motions for him to be quiet.

“Touristen,” Scully says. “We are tourists.”

“Everything on the house then! Drink and get high, my friends!” He offers Mulder a beer and a joint. This is not an x-file. Not at all.

“You do this for all your new friends?” The man nods enthusiastically.

“All new friends all over the world! They stay days!” Scully sighs, glares at Mulder. Case solved.

“What about the lights though?” He whispers to Scully. Kronprinz Ludwig hears him, too.

“The lights don’t come until dark,” he says, munching on some chips. “I turn them on when it’s dark out.” No aliens. No conspiracy. Just a drugged up wannabe prince trying to make new friends.

“Thank you,” Mulder says. “We’re uhm, we’ll think about it.”

“Danke,” Scully says in German and then they’re out of the hut, both breathing in fresh air.

“The local authorities couldn’t have solved that themselves?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. Bad idea. Mulder loves her cleavage no matter what. But this… this is exquisite. “Mulder, my eyes are up here.”

“I know that,” he answers quickly, his eyes finding hers. To his greatest delight, she is amused and not angry. Not really. “Do you want to check this place out? Since we’re here and all?” They both look at the drunken crowds. They’re too old for this. They’re too… something else for it.

“I’d rather call the police and then get back to the hotel. We can grab something to eat and go to bed early. I’ve not adjusted to the time difference yet.” Mulder takes her hand in his, claiming he’s afraid of losing her here. They walk by waitresses stemming a whole tablet full of enormous beer glasses.

“They’re called Maß,” Scully explains to him. “It’s one liter of beer.” He just nods. If he never has to attend another Oktoberfest in his life, he won’t mind. As soon as they leave the Wiesn, as everyone seems to be calling it, the atmosphere quiets and he relaxes. If only those lederhosen weren’t tickling him in all the wrong places.

“It’s nice here, don’t you think?” Mulder looks around. It’s green enough, looks fairly clean. He shrugs.

“I’d rather be home,” he admits. Scully squeezes his hand; she understands.

“Scully, look!” Mulder comes to a stop in front of a tourist shop. He sees tiny hats, a pretzel dog toy, a pretzel pillow and, to his greatest delight, a vibrator in the traditional Bavarian colors.

“Mulder, no.” Scully tries to drag him away, but he refuses to move.

“I’m not saying let’s buy the vibrator,” he winks at her. He bought her the same one she lost during that one case. He doesn’t regret it at all. But one of them is enough. For now, anyway. What he wants is much more pedestrian. “Let’s buy t-shirts!”

“Mulder, no,” Scully repeats with more desperation in her voice.

“Matching t-shirts, Scully. Please. Let’s just have a look. Please?”

Inside the store, a small woman smiles at them and tells them she’ll gladly help them if they have any questions. Mulder rushes through the shop until he finds the t-shirts.

“We need those, Scully,” he says and holds up a black shirt with a huge glass of beer on it, reading ‘Oktoberfest München’. Mulder is fascinated by the ü, thinking it looks like a smiley face. It’s much cooler than the English word for it: Munich.

“You buy one and I’ll just-”

“No, we both have to wear them,” he pouts and looks for a smaller size that would fit Scully. “We can make your brother jealous.” His words make her think, he can see it. Finally she is convinced. She bites her lip and he stops himself from grinning; they’re going to buy the shirts.

Mulder swings the bag back and forth, happy as a child on Christmas morning. The day is nice enough to walk and their hotel isn’t far away. Inside, Scully has a conversation with the receptionist and he can’t help but watch in fascination. She can speak another language, just like that. His Scully. With her boobs almost falling out.

“You’re staring again,” Scully whispers as they step into the elevator.

“I’m sorry, but Scully, have you seen your breasts in this?” She chuckles.

“You know I only borrowed it, right? I’m not taking it home with me.” Mulder’s face falls.

“I’m not returning it until tomorrow, though. Do you think we might… need it again later tonight?” She’s winking at him. Scully never winks. Not really. Not like this. Mulder licks his lips and nods.

“Say it again, Scully.”

“Say what?” She looks at him with big eyes.

“What this thing you’re wearing is called.” Permission granted, Mulder touches the swell of her breasts. Her breath falters; he can relate. His finger wanders over the sweaty skin and he feels thirsty, so hungry for what she has to offer.

“A dirndl?” He groans and can no longer stop himself. He buries his head in her cleavage and kisses and nuzzles every sliver of naked skin he can find. The elevator dings too soon and they jump apart.

“Na, na, na. Das macht ihr aber schön in eurem Zimmer!” A middle-aged woman waves a finger at them and even though Mulder has no idea what she’s saying, he swallows. Hard.

“Entschuldigung,” Scully mumbles and drags Mulder out of the elevator. He knows that word: it means sorry.

“What did she say?” Asking Scully isn’t easy when she keeps pressing her mouth to his, her tongue licking his lips, and making him stumble on their way to the hotel room.

“That we should have sex in our room.”

“I like that idea.”


End file.
